2:30 AM
by drewvansexy
Summary: Ezra leaves Rosewood like Aria asked him to, but that doesn't mean he has to stop thinking about her. Eight months later and he still can't get her off of his mind. Ezra's POV (one-shot)


Eight months. How has it only been eight months? It feels like it's been two years since the last time I saw her. I guess I'm supposed to be saying things like "it's not great but I'm managing" or "it's getting easier as the time passes" but I don't want to lie. I've done far too much of that in the past. Lying is what got us into this mess—_me_ into this mess. The truth is it hasn't gotten any easier, and I am certainly not managing. I got an email from Rosewood High about two months ago—I guess they forgot to take me off of the email list—telling me that it was graduation time for the class of 2014. I considered going, actually I _planned _on going. However, on the day of her graduation, I choked. I walked out of my door, dressed in my best suit and freshly shaven, then came straight back in.

I glance at the clock on my bedside table then back up at the ceiling. It's two-thirty in the morning. I haven't been sleeping well since I left Rosewood—or more appropriately, since I left her. I think the air in New York is different; it's thick and heavy and there's something... suffocating about it. It makes me feel trapped, but maybe that has more to do with me than it does with the city. These four dreary, grayish/blue walls that I call an apartment keep me locked inside, away from the temptation of the dark and damaged streets that will eventually lead me to her door again. I'm going mad. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, glancing at the clock again. It is still two-thirty in the morning.

I rub my forehead with my hand as I struggle to keep my heavy eyes open. This is the second time this week I haven't slept. It's Tuesday. My nights have turned into a vicious cycle. No sleep one night, crash the next, and then it repeats. I heard somewhere that insomnia is apparently great for writers. The wee hours of the night are supposed to increase creativity or make them feel inspired or some poetic shit like that. I just feel tired. I'm so damn tired. My mind refuses to let me sleep and when it finally does it's never pleasant. She used to think it was cute when I laughed in my sleep but now, I think I just cry. Sometimes I wake up to reddened eyes and a dampened pillow and the memory of her ghostly figure haunting my dreams. My eyes drift to the picture sitting next to my clock. I had to get a new frame for it. I take the photo gingerly in my hands and remember that we took another picture for her to have too. I wonder if that picture is still on her bedside table. I doubt it, but I hope she has it tucked away somewhere to be discovered sometime in the future.

I set the picture down and sigh. God, I miss her. I miss her scent, her smile, her eyes, her warmth... I miss the way she'd bite her lip and let out a shaky breath before telling me something important. I miss the way she laughed, especially at me. I miss how she'd roll her eyes and call me out when I was being an idiot. I miss how easily her fingers fit between mine. I miss the way she looked at me. I miss the sound of her voice.

My hands desperately reach for my phone on the table and before I know what I'm doing, her contact is displayed on my screen, my thumb hovering over the call button. I place my head between my knees with my phone securely gripped between my hands and resting on my forehead. I don't want anything from her, I just want to hear her voice. I _need_ to hear her voice. I lift up my head and continue to stare at her number in my phone. I run my hand through my messy, thick hair; I haven't done much about my appearance since moving here. I guess I'm used to her always telling me when I needed a haircut.

I wonder what she's up to now. No doubt she's sleeping soundly, but I wonder if she ever thinks about me. Is that selfish? Wanting her to think about me? Probably, but I can't help it. I don't think anyone can when they lose someone like her. I just hope she's happy; that's all I've ever wanted for her. I shudder as I imagine the possibility that maybe she's not alone right now. It isn't hard to think about, considering how beautiful and intelligent and well, perfect, she is. I see her small body curled up beside someone else, who is wrapping his arm protectively around her waist as they both sleep. Her palm presses against his chest like it used to with me...

I can't be surprised that anyone else would fall for her now that she can act available. They've fallen for her anyways, I remind myself, as I think back to the times when she would confess with the most sincere apology that yet another boy had kissed her. I couldn't blame her, of course. It wasn't her fault that she was so damn irresistible, even to my own brother who was well aware of her relationship status. It's clear to me now that I'd be a fool to expect that she is single. I wonder if he's someone I know. Perhaps she reconnected with Jason when he returned to Rosewood, or maybe she went back to Jake to tell him how stupid she'd been to have picked me. He'd be an idiot not to take her back, but then again I never thought the guy was particularly smart. Or maybe it's someone new who she met after graduation. Either way, I hope he's making her laugh. I hope he's making her happier than I ever could.

Suddenly I feel a burst of strength and set my phone down on the table, quickly, because I know this strength won't last long. No. I can't call her. She doesn't want to hear from me, ever. After everything I've done I owe it to her to respect that. I am no longer a part of her life and I never will be, because that is what she wants. I lay back down and it is only when I see the sun rising from my window that I realize how long I've been staring blankly out into the city. I let out an involuntary groan as I sit up and drag myself out of bed. A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I silently congratulate myself for not calling her last night. If there's one thing I care most about it's that Aria is happy, and at least I know that if I don't call her, she will be.

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**A/N**

**i know it's short but i haven't been able to get this story out of my head since 4x22. ezra has always been so considerate and respectful to aria's wishes and i just couldnt stop imagining him wanting to call her so badly, but refusing to go against what she said. so yeah, please review! :)**


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